Scribbles, Jottings and Doodles
by msllamalover
Summary: A collection of one-shots for the forum-wide competition, at the HPFC. Based on various challenges, prompts and characters.
1. Rowena Ravenclaw's Embrace

_Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!  
A/N: I apologise for this fic, especially to the Hufflepuff House, who I feel like I'm letting down because I don't think this is up to scratch. I could give you excuses, because I do have them, but I'd rather not go into it, and something is better than nothing. Onwards and upwards: I'm writing for the _Hufflepuff House_, and__ my first prompt was _Embrace.

* * *

When they were younger, Helga was the one with rosy cheeks, and a bosom that heaved when she laughed. She married very young, to the gentlest man she'd ever known, who didn't attempt to court her, or shower her with expensive gifts. Edgar showered her with love, and Helga had never wanted more than that. She had her daughter, Meredith, who was her mother's greatest gift.

Helga had Rowena's friendship, which she kept dear and close to her heart, and Rowena offered it freely. But Rowena was jealous, too.

'Sweyn refuses to enter the castle.' She stated primly, when Helga questioned her on her husband's absence.

Helga patted her arm softly. 'I'm sorry, dear. I'm sure he'll come to his senses,' she told her. Rowena didn't know how her emotions were so legible to Helga, when they weren't to anyone else.

'I'm sure he will. He refuses to understand why Hogwarts is so necessary,' she replied, 'I think he is afraid of us being discovered by the Muggles, but his fears are unfounded, and I can't give this up now. Our students need me.'

'Rowena, I was not thinking of Hogwarts. I'm sure we could function fine without you if you wanted to take leave to find him,' Helga looked sympathetic. She was trying not being patronising, but it seemed that way to Rowena. 'I was thinking of you, and of Helena.'

Rowena's own marriage was one of sensibility. Sweyn was not scared away by her righteous intelligence, or the sharpness of her tongue. For that alone, she admired him. He was often away, dabbling the Muggle business that he had accepted so freely, so senselessly, over their world. Though he tried to pretend otherwise, Rowena was not a fool; she knew that his pride could not allow him to completely accept her place was in the school, and not with him.

Her husband was a handsome man, more so than Edgar, or Salazar, or even Godric. She could see no reasonable explanation for his ever marrying her. She was not rich, she was not extremely beautiful or maternal, she could not be a perfect wife. All she had was her intelligence, a small gift for any man.

Still, he had taken her as his. And, like a sharp stone, weathered with time, she softened. As her stomach swelled with life, Rowena's body grew less harsh, and the hard edges of her intelligence softened into creativity.

Sweyn's visits to Hogwarts became more and more infrequent over the course of her pregnancy. For many years, they climaxed in an encounter, months after Helena's birth, when he had tried to take the two of them from the castle. He had, most foolishly tried to overpower her, to take her and their baby from their home. Rowena was not the most powerful witch of the age for nothing.

'Helena and I are fine.' And they were. They had almost everything they needed at Hogwarts. 'I've had time to devise new floor plans for the castle, while he's been away. Really, Helga, I'm far more stimulated working without him, than I would have been were my husband here. I do not have to waste a second of my time.'

'Your plans are indeed spectacular, but don't you miss him, even a little bit?' Helga attempted to probe further. 'Surely Helena is in need of a father?'

Rowena considered it for only a brief few seconds. She had thought before that she should miss him. 'I am not loyal, like you are. Sometimes I miss him, but that is not a sensible use of my time. Why dwell on what is _not_ going well, when I have so much that is?' She smiled easily. 'My Helena is not growing up without the presence of males, is she? Godric dotes on her, Salazar teaches her the ways of cunning and ambition, and Edgar is as wonderful with her as he is with Meredith.'

She smiled honestly, stopping and taking Helga's hands in her own. 'My dear Helga, please do not think that your worrying about me and Helena is not appreciated. You know I could never have retained my sanity without you.'

Helga could do nothing but smile, and nod understandingly, though the look in her eyes was one of disguised disbelief.

Truthfully, Rowena did miss him, sometimes. There were moments, in the time that they spent together, that Sweyn was tender with her and her body. She discovered, from him, the power of her own mind when given completely to another. Her mind was sharper than anyone's of their age, and her logic stimulated that, but she had soon found that she could learn in other ways too.

It wasn't in her nature to discuss that particular subject with anyone, no matter how much she loved Helga. With her thanks, their conversation was ended.

* * *

By the time Helena was ten, her father had visited them twice. Rowena was not surprised. Many Muggle women spent vast amounts of time without notice from their husbands, especially when they were playing at battles, like Sweyn was. At least they received regular owls.

When he returned, she barely recognised him as the same man who had been so loudly unsure about Hogwarts, and who had left them for so long. He picked his little girl up easily, and looked proudly down into her beautiful, fair face, so like his. Beaming, he proclaimed his intention to come more often to the castle.

'I have learned lessons in honour from the Muggles, Rowena,' he told her sincerely when they were on their own, 'and while you know of my duties elsewhere, I intend to visit frequently, if you wish it.'

She fell into his embrace, and kissed him soundly. He was her husband, and she hadn't married him for no reason, really. Though they were not close when their wedding had occured, his caresses were the only ones she had ever known, and his slim ring was on her slim finger, and his letters, signed with love, were her constant companions. That meant something.

(Oh, how she wished it didn't, when word of this death reached the castle, and the tears on her face were far too illogical, far too real.)

* * *

Her teaching methods became passionless then, and her wisdom fell away until the sharp edges physically hurt again, like they never had when they were younger. She continued mechanically with her duties at Hogwarts. When Salazar had sidled up to her, they were both stuck on a moving staircase that had seemed like a _marvellous _idea at the time.

'I fail to see, dear Rowena, how your dear husband could ever possibly have appreciated you.' Salazar had hissed softly, his words tickling her ears. She had known he was manipulating her, but it was what she had needed to hear. She had embraced his cold words. His sensibilities had, in the past, impressed her. He balanced out Godric's occasionally irrational actions, and he did not pity her for her loss.

'I'm sure he must have done a little,' she had blushed. Starting this affair with him had been a mistake, a horrible mistake, but she made it gladly.

His fingers were long and knowing, his touches precise. He manipulated her body with meticulousness, and Rowena slowly learnt how to return the favour. There was nothing in their affair that was allowed or acceptable. It wasn't something that she liked, but it was a learning curve, and if she wasn't learning, she suspected that she would rather not be living anymore.

Unfortunately, Salazar was the one who taught her the meaning of anger, too, and she'd always known that there was _nothing_ sensible in pointless anger like that.

Yet his leaving made her angrier than any fight he and Godric had ever had before, because in his smooth way, he'd made her _need_ him and their secret encounters. Somewhere along the line, the differences that they all knew where there grew beyond control. Four became three, and Salazar was just another person who left her.

* * *

Helena left Hogwarts not long after them, they'd restored her passion for knowledge. Teaching her daughter was more fulfilling than she had ever imagined, and somehow, being with Salazar had taught her things she was sure she had forgotten.

Even had she still been in possesion of her diadem, the lessons the two had taught her would not have prepared her to lose them. Even with the diadem, Helena had not found the wisdom to see that Rowena had only ever tired to actin her best interests. The Baron loved her daughter, like Sweyn had once loved her. It didn't seem to matter that Helena, at present, did not have a passionate, true love for him. Sometimes, she had tried to reason, love was grown, and not discovered. Her reasoning had not worked.

'Rowena?' Helga called her name, intercepting her journey to the library, with pity in her voice and loyalty in her eyes. 'My dear, please, take some rest?'

Between them, Godric and Helga were the only constants in her life. Godric was like a fire, his temper rife since the duel with Salazar, and his entire person screamed of burning if she got too close. In the past years of their friendship, none of them were afraid of each other, but she was too fragile, too frail in her own mind to risk burning now. Yes, he worried for her, but he was still Godric, too courageous and headstrong for his own good, with the booming laugh that students seemed to trust. And Helga was still her closest companion, who the whole castle, the students that passed through and Edgar, worshipped like a maternal Goddess.

'I cannot. When sleep comes, they come back to haunt me, and I refuse to let them.' Rowena's back remained tall as the students hurried past Helga's smile, and her own, newly stern face. 'I am of use to no one when I am resting. At least now I have my teaching.'

'_Wit beyond measure_, Rowena, that is what you used to say. Will rest not bring that woman back to us again?'

Rowena studied Helga's face for a moment. There was the sincerity that she had expected, the hope of regaining her lost friend. Her resolve crumbled momentarily. 'I think you and I both know that woman was incorrect, do we not? My friend, no matter what I have said in the past, we both know – I suspect that you have always known – that wit has never been man's greatest treasure.'

She did not elaborate, and Helga did not ask further. She did not have time to, as Meredith (who had remained at Hogwarts, to help with the teaching of certain subjects, and with the Hospital Wing) came quickly down the corridor.

She smiled easily at Rowena, who smiled back and did not even attempt to mask the jealousy that was resurfacing after so long dormant. She watched as darling Meredith, a woman now (who she loved almost as greatly as her own daughter) embraced her mother, and Rowena turned back towards her growing library. She'd spent years drowning in the love for her daughter that was so often unrequited, and the grief that had gripped her since Sweyn's death, and the anger that had burned softly since Salazar's leaving. She accepted the cold woman she had become, who she did not care if history forgot, with open arms.


	2. Eleanor Branstone's Beauty

_Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!  
A/N: My house is _Hufflepuff_, my Hufflepuff character for this challenge is _Eleanor Branstone_. She's a 'Puff, in the same year as Dennis Creevey. She IS canon, albeit rather obscure. This one is only short, but I hope you like it! _

* * *

Dennis really struggles when Eleanor asks him whether she's beautiful. She's retained her humour, but when he shakes his head, something akin to sadness flickers in her eyes.

'No, wait, Nor, that's not what I mean.' He stops her with a hand on her shoulder. Dennis finds it harder now to express his feelings. It used to be easy, when they were younger, when happiness bubbled over, more than his tiny form could take. But that was before the war and the deaths, and he's taller now and that happiness seems to find it hard to spill over.

'You don't think I'm beautiful?' She asks sadly. She's crazy, just as crazy as he'd be to think she isn't beautiful. She's been his girlfriend for three years, and he's taken pictures of her every day, even when they were just friends, and she was helping him to heal, before they were together. She's his inspiration, and she's so patient with him about it.

After Colin's death, Dennis took up his camera. It made him feel closer to his brother, and it became an addiction, a need. Looking through the lens of a camera, seeing how his brother had seen, it was easier. And aesthetically, Eleanor is perfect. Her face isn't conventional; her nose is long, her lips are full, and her eyes are wide-open and slanted like almonds, sympathetic and compassionate. She is lovely, he has no doubt about that, and she photographs wonderfully.

He purses his own lips as he thinks of how to explain what he means. 'After Colin's funeral' – for it's been five years, and he can say it without crying now – 'people said, "oh, what a beautiful service", even though it wasn't beautiful, it was terrible.'

'Oh, Dennis,' Eleanor's hair falls into her face, and he wants to take a picture, but he has to get this off his chest first; he has to let her know that she _is_ beautiful, but that he can't use that word. 'You don't have to explain if it's too hard. I'm sorry for upsetting you.'

Dennis laughs. She doesn't upset him, not ever. 'You know it's fine. Can I carry on explaining?'

'Of course,' Eleanor nods. She's eager to know, really. Underneath all of her Hufflepuff kindness, she's just as excitable as Dennis, when the mood takes her. Given, it's harder after the war, even five years after, but they manage just fine.

'When my cousin Mia was born, they crowded around and said how beautiful she was, all screaming and red and new. She's a sweet kid, you've met her I think, but beautiful like that ... that's just not right, not when I think of you. And when the sun was reflecting on the lake, people used to say that was beautiful, but it was so _melancholy_ because that was almost all the beauty we had at times.

'You aren't a sadness, Nora, I don't want you to ever become one, and that's what I think when you say beautiful. You're so much more than all of those things.'

She hugs him hard for a long time, and as she pulls away, he sneaks a picture.

* * *

'Here you go.' He hands her the photograph he had taken earlier in the day. They're at a bit of a funny angle, but she's looking at him with love in her whole face, gaze flickering to the camera with a smile in the last few seconds. Dennis is grinning.

'Is this the one you took earlier?' She asks, and he simply nods. 'It's a great one.'

Dennis blushes. 'You might even say it's a beautiful one?'

And Eleanor understands perfectly what he's trying to tell her.


	3. Uncle Charlie's Fatherhood

_Discliamer: Not mine, of course!  
A/N: My house is _Hufflepuff_, I used _Set Seven, all prompts. _Many thanks to RoseScor90 (even where I've been to stubborn to listen to your good advice!) and psycho-pink-faerie for their beta-ing help. __I really hope you like it - I'm really starting to like Charlie! If I've focused on the Weasley males and not Ginny, that's because Charlie wants to be a father, so he's looking at them! Oh, and Olga is mentioned in my other story _You Can't Kiss a Dragon_, so if you want more background on her, that'd be the place to look._

* * *

Charlie is the cool Uncle. That much is fact. Known. Undisputable. He's cooler than Bill, even though Bill has an earring and tells them horror stories of Egyptian curses. Percy's improved a lot over the years, but he was never even in the running. Sure, they go to Ron for pranking material and to be cheered up, and George for the funniest ideas, and Harry for the best stories about the war.

But Charlie is the coolest. He's a freaking _dragon tamer_, with tattoos and a way of making them feel like he always understands.

Right from when Teddy was old enough to actually have problems, he's written to Charlie (never Uncle Charlie, not from Teddy). In a way, Charlie's always felt like he owed something to him. Once upon a time, he'd been in puppy-love with his mother, and the friendship remained even where the love didn't. He's the one Teddy asks for stories of his mother, not Andromeda or Harry.

And he loves being their Uncle, the cool one who they run to greet when he turns up to their gatherings. The fact that he can't get back from Romania that often seems to make his appearances at them all the more exciting.

But when Little Lucy, his youngest niece, falls from the tree house in Ron and Hermione's garden, it's Percy she looks for. And when James falls from his broom, pride more injured than anything else, Harry's the only one he seeks. When Fred uncovers his sexuality, sure, he goes to Charlie for help, but it's George's acceptance that he's desperate to get.

And when he looks round at his nieces and nephews, he can see his brothers in their faces. Dom's cheeky smile is crooked in the exact same way Bill's is. Hugo walks with the same slight stoop that Ron had at that age, a copy of his father with echoes of Hermione. Molly couldn't be Percy's daughter any more if she tried; Audrey's openness is there in spades, but Molly takes after Percy, complete with square-framed glasses and quietness.

The closest Charlie's ever been to having these things was when Teddy's eyes became his, long before he could control his magic, when he was just a baby. For a few moments, Charlie almost ... forgot, that that baby wasn't his, that he wasn't likely to have a child of his own with his eyes, and his wide grin. Then, he didn't even have a girlfriend.

He's spent the years watching them grow into the best people he knows, but the ache never quite goes away. It's like there's a tiny hole in his heart, and it grows as the years pass. Knowing he has his nieces and nephews patches the hole well, but never quite completely.

When Father's Day rolls round again, there's a sorrow somewhere in him that's hard to ignore. He's not old, especially not for a wizard. He's only now nearing the end of his forties. He's just certain that he started with romance and paternal feelings too late. He's got Olga now, his partner – not girlfriend, a forty-eight year old can't have a girlfriend – who he loves, but they're not going to get married. Neither of them want to; they're both far too happy the way they are. And Olga can't have children, so it seems that his future has always been set in stone: they just aren't destined to have a child with her hair and his eyes, and he isn't ever going to be a father. He'd never considered sacrificing Olga, his job, his life, to find another woman who he loves, who could give him a child. Besides, it had taken him so long to find Olga, and he knows he won't ever find a woman quite like her again.

'Alright, Charlie?' Teddy takes the seat next to his at the table, looking so like his father, with his natural hair and face. Somehow, this time of year has become a little too painful for both of them, and they both know it.

Charlie smiles at the boy (it doesn't matter that he's twenty-two years old, he'll always be a boy). 'Of course, mate. Of course.'

Teddy nods but raises his eyebrows. It's not the first time they have spoken about this. The fatherless and the childless, there were times when it felt like they were the only ones who understood. Which, really, is a bit foolish and they're both well aware of that. Teddy has so many father figures in his life – he's got Harry, and all the Weasley men. Besides his Godfather, of all of them, he's closest to Charlie. Quite crucially though, all those father figures? They're not his father.

'Shame I don't believe you.' He states simply. Charlie chuckles. The response is exactly what he's come to expect from him. When he was younger, he didn't believe anything without testing it himself first, and now he's an adult, he still pays no attention to the danger. Their life-lessons are wasted on him.

'Shame indeed. I am fine.'

'You should be,' Teddy says, without any hint of melancholy, '_you_ have a father to be with on Father's Day.'

'And that lovely niece of mine' –he gestures to Victoire, standing across the other side of the room, laughing with Audrey – 'will probably make _you_ a father in the not too distant future.'

Neither of them are really saddened by the exchange – it's light-hearted, and not the first time. Teddy nods slightly. He leans in closer to Charlie, and whispers, 'now that you mention it, if that does happen soon, she'll be an honest woman when it does.'

It takes all Charlie's strength not to roar with happiness. He understands immediately. 'Teddy-boy! I couldn't be happier for you!'

A grin that he didn't know he was holding back spreads across Teddy's face. Somehow, telling Charlie had lightened him. 'Cheers, Charlie! We weren't going to tell anyone today – decided it'd be selfish, it being Father's Day and all. But Arthur's busy, and you're the childless wonder, so it can't hurt, can it?'

'Never been less hurt!' He lifts his glass, and nods a tiny nod to Victoire, who's been watching the two of them suspiciously. She smiles widely, and nods back, a blush spreading prettily across her face. Clinking his glass with Teddy's, they toast fatherhood, and what they _do_ have. After all, they're almost like father and son. Almost.

* * *

When Teddy has his child, Charlie doesn't feel a jot of bitterness. Just like how he never resented his siblings for their children, or his friends from the reserve for theirs. It's just another thing he's never had. He's got a job he _still _loves, and Olga, which he knows is more than some people manage in a lifetime.

Teddy's baby is a delightful little girl, with misty eyes and a tiny smattering of blonde hair. He sees her in the hospital, and cries, for she looks just like Tonks, and just like Fleur, and she's got Victoire's lips already, and Bill's eyes. It's too much somehow; so many beloved people in one child, who he already loves more than he can believe. They call her Athena Andromeda Lupin.

She's settled in Charlie's arms, and Olga is beaming too, cooing over her. 'She's beautiful, Victoire.' She tells her with a wide smile. Victoire nods happily.

Charlie's eyes are flickering between Teddy and Athena, and he pays no attention to anyone else. Carefully, like he's handling something so fragile and breakable, he passes Athena to Olga. He jerks his head towards to door, and Teddy understands. With the excuse of going to find tea, the two leave. Charlie doesn't fail to notice the way that Teddy's eyes rest on his daughter for several seconds before they go. It's like he can't quite believe she's there.

'What's it like?' Charlie asks cautiously. He's feeling emotional, and his emotions aren't secrets, but to most people, they're not always easy to read. But Teddy understands this, understands what he's asking, and why.

'Like...' Teddy struggles for the words. 'It's like ... everything makes sense. I ... understand now. Why my parents died for me, why Harry always spent more time with James even with his best efforts to be fair, why you wanted this so much. Everything ... yes. It makes sense.'

And he beams, even as he's speaking. Charlie nods.

'I'm happy for you.' He says, and it's so sincere and understated that tears spring embarrassingly to Teddy's eyes. He quickly bats them away.

'Thanks.' They walk in silence for little longer, before Teddy speaks again. 'Will you be Godfather?'

No one had asked Charlie to be Godfather before. Percy was Bill's children's Godfather; Audrey's best friends were Molly and Lucy's; George and Angelina had chosen Lee and Alicia Jordan; Harry was Rose and Hugo's; and Ron and Hermione were the Potter children's Godparents. Charlie had never batted an eyelid before. He was their Uncle, and that was enough.

But he'd changed. Before, had they asked him, he wouldn't have been able to commit to it. If anything happened to any of his family, and he'd had to look after them, he wouldn't have known what to do. _Maybe we should, maybe then he'd become a little more responsible,_ they'd thought, but they'd never followed through, and he was glad at the time. Now, he wishes that he'd been more than just an Uncle, and the idea of being something to Athena is exactly what he wants.

'Are you sure?' He asks carefully. He's sure Teddy and Victoire should have chosen someone younger, someone from their own generation. Not an aging dragon-keeper, no matter how cool he used to be.

'Course. Vic and I ... we've spoken about it, and if anything was to happen to us...' Teddy takes a second, but rushes through the thought, 'we'd want you and Olga to bring Athena up.'

Charlie stops walking abruptly, and grasps Teddy into a hug. 'I'll be making sure nothing happens to you two,' he mutters under his breath, 'but I'd love to be Godfather.'

When the two are straightened out again, they return, bearing tea for the four of them. 'And you?' Teddy asks, smirking like he knows something wonderful that Charlie doesn't.

'And me, what?'

'What's it like? To be Godfather?'

Charlie laughs. 'The very best.'

So Charlie is the cool Godfather. That much, he knows.


	4. Zacharias Smith's Pride

_Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!  
A/N: My house is _Hufflepuff_, my given character was _Zacharias Smith._ I paired him, perhaps ridiculously, considering I have a week and she is, yet again, very obscure, with Morag MacDougal. I love both these characters having done this, so I hope you like it too! Many, many thanks to Smile Life Away for all of her excellent, and speedy, beta work!_

* * *

Between the darkness and the light Zacharias Smith can't decide how to deal with life. He wants normalcy – to be a teenager with friends and enemies and to be able to concentrate on schoolwork and dating. He doesn't _want _to have to join secret organisations to keep up with his friends, or get into trouble with the bastard teachers for his beliefs. Merlin, he doesn't even _want_ to have beliefs yet. He's not old enough, and he knows that.

Under his father's haughty gaze, he quivers and leans towards Voldemort. 'It'll be good for people like us, Zacharias. They look highly on purebloods.' He tells him. He doesn't have You-Know-Who's mark on his arm, but it's on his heart, and Zacharias thinks that's almost worse.

'Ignore your father,' his mother's soft gaze turns hard as she looks at his father. 'You know neither of us agree with what _They_ do to Muggle-borns, don't you, darling? Your father is just scared.'

'Martha, kindly, do not tell the boy what I believe.' And another of his parents' fights start. It's not new, not anymore. All they seem to do is argue about what they believe, and what he should. He stops believing in anything, eventually. It's far too much bother; he just wants this all to be over, so his life can be _easy _again.

He tells this to Morag MacDougal, his partner in Potions. She sits and works quietly, listening to him and letting him vent his anger. She smiles, sadly, and stares a little too intensely into his eyes. 'Zach, how in the name of Merlin were you sorted into Hufflepuff?' And she shakes her head, and goes back to her work.

'What?' He asks, dumbfounded. He's worked with Morag in Potions since they were in third year, and she's never really offered more than a kind ear, polite responses, and easy small-talk before. She's really good at Potions, too, where he isn't. She is, all things considered, an ideal partner. Sure, she isn't quite as much of a looker as Padma Patil, but she's less distracting than Patil, for that very reason.

Morag sighs, stirs their Euphoria-inducing Elixir, and sets her knife down. 'Zach, what you _do _believe is up to you, but no one believes in nothing. Especially not someone with the famous Hufflepuff loyalty.'

'Morag, you and I are both pureblooded. We don't need to believe in anything yet.'

'You're like the riddle at the Ravenclaw common room, but I've already solved you, Smith.' She tells him plainly. 'You want to believe what your mother tells you, but inside, you already agree with your father. See? I'm not interested in what you think you believe. I already know.'

'You don't think I should be Hufflepuff?'

'Do _you_?' Morag asks. He can tell from her tone that she doesn't want to discuss it further; their potion is slowly bubbling into the frothy orange-yellow that means they're on the right track.

But no one's ever said it to him so bluntly before. It doesn't bother him that she thinks she's solved him. All he wants to do now is prove that she hasn't.

'I think I should be.' He argues pointlessly. Yes, Morag's been a quiet, kind ear, but she's not made any secret of her own pride. 'I have a sense of justice, I'm helpful, I'm nice ... enough –'

'You're too proud to be nice, without the courage to be plain evil, or the intelligence to be quiet about it. That's why you're a Hufflepuff, not a Slytherin,' she says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. 'I never tried to hide my pride, but I'm not stupid enough to be foul along with it, nor am I foolish enough to run headlong into trouble. That's why _I'm _a Ravenclaw.'

Zacharias can't help but be offended, because she _does _know him, and he doesn't know how. That scares him. 'You think you're so clever, don't you, MacDougal? You think you know everything, but you're wrong.'

'Am I?' She shrugs and smiles as she adds a small handful of chopped castor beans to the Elixir, which bubbles sunshine-yellow. 'You may as well accept that I'm right. Embrace it; I do. Maybe then you'll be able to actually help with the next potion?'

* * *

He contemplates it later, and comes to the unsatisfactory conclusion that he has no idea why he's a Hufflepuff. He's not kind, or loyal. He's a bit of a bastard, and he's definitely not a hero. He knows this all too well, but, when it comes down to it, that hat made him Hufflepuff, which was probably a mistake.

'Don't be stupid, mate,' Ernie tells him with a smile. 'The hat doesn't make mistakes. Not ever!'

'You and I both know that I'm not right for this house,' Zacharias replies, smoothly ignoring his friend's sentiment. 'Everyone thinks I should have been Slytherin. Or even Ravenclaw.'

Really, that ends the conversation, because when he mentions Ravenclaw he starts to think of Morag again. She's like him, except that she fits her house. If he was Ravenclaw, he'd be with her, and no one would be surprised by his bloody-annoying need for the truth.

'If you really want to prove to yourself that you belong here, chose your side.' Hannah suggests carefully, glancing at Ernie. 'It's not a joke anymore, Zach. This matters.'

'Well, obviously it matters,' he scoffs. 'I'm not a complete prat –' (he ignores Ernie's sarcastic cough, and Hannah's nudge to his ribs to stop him) '- I don't want You-Know-Who killing Muggle-borns. The blood prejudice is just petty anyway.'

'It's not petty, it's dangerous. Are you with us?' Hannah asks, and she's serious now. If he says no, he loses his friends forever, so he nods his head. 'Come and train with us to fight him.'

It's not a request, it's a demand. Hannah can be that person when she wants to be. She's got the fire and the fairness, and eyes that he can't get on the wrong side of, he just can't. It's like she's a little kitten or something.

'What can _we _do? We're sixteen years old.' Zacharias questions scathingly. 'A Death Eater would take one look at us and laugh.'

'Look on the bright side, Zach,' Ernie points out, 'while they're laughing, we can throw the first curse!'

'Of course...' He replies, halfheartedly, as Hannah tells him very quietly when the next meeting is.

* * *

Morag isn't at the meeting, and he's not really surprised. Clearly _she _has the intelligence to keep her head down, to get through this. Zacharias already regrets going. He doesn't like Potter, or Granger, or any of the Weasleys. He doesn't want to be taught, preached to, or patronised by those people. It's his damned pride, but sometimes it feels like that's all he has.

'You were right.' He tells her, sitting heavily in the seat beside her in the library.

'I know,' she continues working. 'About which thing in particular?'

'About being too proud to be nice. How have you managed not to be?' He asks it like it's an exam question, not like he's desperate to know. He can see from her face that it's taken her by surprise.

She thinks carefully about it. The Smith background is known to her, just as the MacDougal one is known to him; his father is as proud of his bloodline as her mother was of hers, when she was alive. 'My dad doesn't care, so I don't care. Mandy's a half-blood, and Lisa's Muggle-born. Those things matter more than blood-pride, don't you think?'

'Will you fight, if it comes to that?' He says quietly, and as he does, he leans in closer to her. There's no telling whether they're being listened to, whether this conversation will come back to bite them. They're sitting closer together than in the two years of being partners in various lessons (Runes, this year, as well as Potions).

She shakes her head somewhat sadly. 'We can't all be heroes, can we?'

She's looking at him, _like that_, because she knows he understands, and suddenly she's leaning closer, and tilting her head, and he's doing the same. She's so imperfect, but somehow she knows him. Their noses brush, but something pulls them apart.

'Boys and girls are not to be within eight inches of each other!' Umbridge says stickily, her voice sweet like honey, but sharp. Zacharias hates her so much that he goes to the D.A. meetings after that, almost solely to spite her.

* * *

He moves his chair a little closer to hers, and is extra careful to make sure that his knee is touching hers under the table as they translate their Runes. His hand brushes hers as his fingers trace the symbols.

Her fingertips start to trace his fingers, and there's something so forbidden about it. He looks up, but no one has noticed, because Umbridge isn't there, her Inquisitorial Squad have no place in Professor Babbling's classroom, and Babbling doesn't care anyway. They're translating the Runes (something he's always been particularly good at), and as long as they're doing that, Babbling doesn't tend to bother them unless they ask for help.

Her hand eventually rests over his, fingers curling around his hand. _I'm too proud to do this normally, _she scribbles onto the corner of his parchement. _Does that bother you?_

_No,_ he writes back, his text cursive, even when rushed, _we're allowed to keep this for ourselves._

His friends already suspect something is different with him anyway; Hannah had told him that he was acting a lot nicer than usual, and Justin's face at dinner had been priceless when Zacharias had joined in their discussion without making any scathing remarks. But since he doesn't know what it actually is between them, he hasn't told them anyway.

A couple of Runes later (because they've still got work to do, after all), Professor Babbling stands, and announces her need to go to the library to find a book. With her, she takes the other two students, leaving them alone.

'What is this to you, Zacharias?' She asks. 'Do you really like me, or do you just want me as a prize? Another secret to be smug about?'

'I don't know!' He exclaims in reply, wondering where this has even come from. Granted, he hasn't always _shown _affection, but he feels something for her, whatever it is. 'I don't know if I like you, or if I just want you. All I know is that I really, really hate the feeling I get when I'm not around you. Is that enough?'

She smiles. 'Of course. Since we've started this, I can't seem to read you as well as before.' Shrugging, Morag leans across to place a light kiss on his cheek.

'Miss MacDougal, Mister Smith, how are the Runes coming?' Babbling announces their return without any hint of malice or annoyance. These days, it seems like the teachers, as well as the students, are willing to put up with most small amounts of rule-breaking. Umbridge, he supposes, has that effect on them.

Morag smiles. 'Excellently, Professor. We've just successfully translated _Ehwaz_.'

* * *

So they're two proud, haughty people, and they work. Because yes, they're proud and haughty – that was never a secret, really – but they're proud and haughty _together_, and that makes all the difference.

And they continue over the summer; his father approves because she's proud, and because her mother was in the same Slytherin position as him. His mother approves because she's _female, _and she makes him into someone who is _finally _more like her than his father. She makes him into a Hufflepuff, and for the reason she'd stated originally. Granted, nothing has changed in either of them, but he's acting like less of a pillock now - as Ernie likes to point out, gleefully.

* * *

_I can't do this._

The note glides along the table top to him, a couple of weeks before Hallowe'en, and he clutches it in his hands until it's screwed up and ripped in half. The half with her familiar writing, telling him that she _can't _(and those words that make the least sense to him), is the bit that he writes his return note on.

His writing isn't as neat as normal. _Why?_

He watches as she bites her bottom lip, and she looks up and catches his gaze. He's shocked to find that tears are gathering in her eyes. He stands very deliberately, and moves to the seat beside her, and then slides closer still. They've not been completely open with everyone else about their relationship, but there was no secret about there being something.

'Why, Rag?' He whispers into her ear.

'Because this is N.E.W.T work now, and I have to focus.' She replies softly, but she's packing her things away and dragging him from the library and into an empty classroom. She looks at him with _that look _in her eye; not the one she uses when she wants her own way, or when she wants him to snog her. It's the look that he can't resist, that fills him with dread, and breaks his heart in ways that he can't really explain.

'Because the world is darkening, and because it's illogical, and because if anything was to happen, I wouldn't know what to do,' she rushes through her words, 'I'm not ready for this. I think I like you too much, and I can't because you don't feel like that yet, do you? And it's _too much_ for now. Can we just ... see what happens in the future?'

So he doesn't feel the same, but he can't turn her down. He nods, and hugs her firmly. She's right really - she's a Ravenclaw, of course she is, and she always could teach him more than he taught her - about everything. Except, over the months, she was wrong about his reason for being a Hufflepuff; he's been a lot nicer, since they happened, and he's got the intelligence to not throw _that _in people's faces. He's finally loyal, but only to her. This normalcy that he has with her wasn't what he wanted, but it was worth it. And now she's ended it, it's worse than not having it at all.

'Maybe in five years, ten years, twenty years, you and I will meet again, and - ' she steps away as he releases her.

' - Maybe then we'll straighten this all out?' He finishes for her. He doesn't want to wait that long, not really. But by then, the war will be over, and they'll be older, proper adults. They'll be different, and maybe he'll be a Hufflepuff for long enough, but he can't guarantee. Morag isn't a fool either, so he thinks she'll probably change, find a guy better than him, and then he'll just be a memory, not even an event, but an occurrence. There's little to hold his loyalty except her, and sometimes his friends. He fits his house perfectly; even though it isn't right, he looks out for himself, and he'll try to wait for her, too.


	5. Sirius Black's Sanity

_Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!  
A/N: My house is _Hufflepuff_, my inspiration was from _Billy Joel's You May Be Right_, my characters had to be Gryffindor or Slytherin, so I chose _Sirius Black and Marlene McKinnon_. Only short, but I tried to capture them, and the Marauders, which I don't attempt very often. I really hope you like it! Many, many thanks to Phips and Filly for her beta-ing help and advice!_

* * *

_You may be right_  
_I may be crazy_  
_But it just may be a lunatic you're looking for_

* * *

There's something unspoken about them. It's not the same kind of unspoken as James and Lily, who they all know just _are_, or the same as Peter and Mary, who somehow _fit_. No, they aren't unspoken like that, because, for one thing, they make no sense.

Or so Remus says. But what does Remus really know? He doesn't have girlfriends; he has books, so they don't trust him to judge.

There's something unspoken in the way that his lip curls up and his flicks his head towards the portrait hole. There's something equally as unspoken the way that she raises her eyebrows as if to say, _Sirius, you're crazy. _But she stretches out her hand for him to help her up, and without even speaking the two leave the rest of their friends in front of the fire. His hand around hers as he pulls her up is the admittance that she's right, and the truth that that is exactly why she wants him so much.

'Marl, I - '

Marlene's voice is gentle and she's smiling as she cuts Lily off, 'We'll be back soon."

Holding her wand carefully, she casts a quick Disillusionment Charm over both of their cloaks. Sirius grins over his shoulder just before disappearing from view, catches James' eye, and winks.

James smirks lazily in response, letting his head fall back into Lily's lap and the warmth of the fire wash over him. 'I wouldn't worry, Lil, they're probably going to the kitchens. Unless he's going to have his wicked way with her in front of the house-elves, I'd say they'll be bringing back hot chocolate for us.'

She tries to tell them, 'I'm not worried,' but she's not believed.

'Unconvincing!' Peter exclaims, his eyes not moving from where Mary and Remus are sitting on the sofa, both reading from the same book. Mary is Peter's girlfriend, and she loves him, but he can't help but be a little wary.

'In all fairness, Lily, _they've _never been caught in a broom cupboard, have they?' Lily blushes beat-red at her friend's words. It had only happened once, and she and James had been unlucky enough to be caught. She glares at Peter and Remus who are chuckling quietly. James leans up a little to kiss her.

'You're always a little worried by Sirius,' He informs, and settles back down, looking up at her as she laces her fingers into his hair and traces circles onto his chest. 'If you want to convince us otherwise, you could either kiss me and distract yourself, or we can talk about something else?'

'This book.' Remus suggests, and - though James is scowling now, and he talks to Peter about something different - Lily is lost in conversation about the book.

* * *

They tumble back through the portrait hole an hour later, both dissolving into giggles that they had clearly been struggling to hold in before. The others hardly bat an eyelid (except for Lily, who never could manage to hold in laughter when other people were giggling), until they sit down in the space that has been cleared by James' legs. He places them back over Marlene's lap when she sits in the space.

'D'ya mind, Jim?' Sirius pokes the bottom of James's foot. 'That's my girlfriend you're lying on.'

'Nah, 'm lying on mine too.' James yawns. 'Did you bring hot chocolate?'

Marlene flicks her wand, and seven steaming mugs hover in the air in front of them. 'I don't know what we're going to do with theirs,' she gestures towards Peter and Mary, who are curled around each other in one armchair, both asleep.

'I'll drink them,' Remus offers eagerly, already with one half-drunk clasped in his hands (a hot chocolate delivered to him is one thing, but more chocolate is even better), but Sirius offers another idea, so his words are forgotten.

'Want me to wake them?' he asks mischievously, plucking Marlene's wand from her loose grasp.

'No! They've just started not to worry around us,' Lily tells him, unable not to scold.

'When we've convinced them to come clean with the rest of the world too, then you can mock openly. Okay?' Marlene offers her agreement.

He attempts his best puppy-dog eyes, with a simpering smile that's never worked on her. She wiggles around slightly, so that one leg is entwined between Sirius's knees and her foot resting on the floor, leaving James's legs over her lap. While the others leave them to it, she wraps her arms around his middle and reaches up to his lips. Sirius kisses her eagerly (as always).

Marlene unwraps one arm so that she can grasp her wand again. With the free hand, she draws a heart in the air, which sits merrily framing Peter and Mary. Remus laughs loudly, James looks like he wants to high-five someone, and even Lily smothers her amusement with the back of her hand. Breaking their kiss, Sirius doesn't say anything; he doesn't even laugh. He just looks into Marlene's face with incredible pride, and kisses her again.

It's funny really, because other than with her, Sirius is never silent. And other than with him, Marlene is always sensible. It's never made sense, no matter how much the others discuss them. And that's as confusing as everything else about them, but maybe that's why they're so right. No matter how many times the others guess, and try to rationalise, they always seem to come to the conclusion: that there's something which is just ...unspoken. Really, they're no puzzle, no tale of destiny, but they're them, and that is the sanest answer. And while it's not the most interesting conclusion, they wouldn't trade for anything.


	6. Horace Slughorn's Doubts

_Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!  
A/N: My house is _Hufflepuff,_ my Slytherin character is _Horace Slughorn_, and my missing moment is below, as allowed by Schermionie. Many thanks to Sarah3Noelle for all her beta-ing help. I feel the need to point out that Ginny says in the same bit that Molly and Arthur eloped soon after school, and as this is set late-60s, it was because of Voldemort, so that's not something I've made up. I've never done this character before, so please review, and I hope you like it!_

* * *

"…_Arthur's never liked him much. The Ministry's littered with Slughorn's old favourites, he was always good at giving leg-ups, but he never had much time for Arthur - didn't seem to think he was a high-flier. Well, that just shows you, even Slughorn makes mistakes" - Molly Weasley, p83, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_

* * *

Why is it that always when I'm about to go back to my quarters (there's a new bottle of mead I've been looking forward to all day), students insist on coming up to me?

At first, I had thought it was the charming Mr. Cuffe, but instead I was faced with Mr. Weasley. Arthur, poor boy, always was a little … _awkward_. Oh, deeply interested in his area, I don't doubt - always on about the Muggles - and his family are respectable purebloods. Bilius Weasley, gone a couple of years now, was always welcome at my parties. Oh yes, I've watched his career with interest since he left. Not everyone gets a start like that at Gringotts, that's all I'll say about him. I don't want to be smug, after all.

But Arthur … no, this fellow is destined to follow, not lead. Nice enough chap, though, and I mustn't shun him for lacking that little bit extra.

'Professor?' He pulled to a halt in front of me. 'Professor, I was speaking to Barnabus Cuffe, and he told me that you'd said you could help him at the Prophet?'

'Indeed!' I puffed my chest up, proud. 'The Daily Prophet has already agreed to take him on, into rather a prominent position, just between you and me!'

Arthur looked pleased. I don't know how I didn't see his mind whirring. I must just be so well-known for my unprejudiced, boundless way of helping students, but I'm just an ordinary Professor (odd, to think such a thing and not say it aloud. When I say it, I'm always assured of my possession of extraordinary qualities).

'That's wonderful news, Professor!' He beamed at the good fortune of his school chum, for I doubt at there being a malicious bone in his body. A good quality and a curse, I don't doubt.

'And what can I do for you?' I asked him, sensing his need. 'Shall we go to my office? There's a bottle of mead in there, and I don't think there's anything wrong with offering you a tipple, now that you're eighteen!'

He blushed and nodded, so we made our way to my quarters. Really, I should have talked to Albus about changing. I mean, ideally I'd have liked Professor Merrythought's office - much more pleasant, nice and comfortable. Bigger than mine, but most of them were. Still, darling Galatea didn't seem to show much sign of taking retirement. If I wasn't such an immaterial man, I'm sure bringing students back would be an embarrassment. As it is, I was always happy to help.

'So then, Mr Weasley, what can I do for you?'

'Well, Sir,' he began. Already stammering, and I didn't think I was that intimidating, and I told him as much. 'N -no, but I've only spoken to Professor McGonagall about it, and I wasn't sure whether to come to you, but you said you didn't mind it.

'The thing is, we're finishing Hogwarts soon, Molly and me, and I know this seems like I'm moving too fast, but there's darkness afoot, isn't there? We all know. The thing is, and I know she wants it too, I'm going to ask Molly to marry me when we leave. We'll elope. It really - it isn't too fast, because I love her, so -'

I interrupted him before he overheated, shaking his hand enthusiastically. 'So happy for you, so happy! You be careful with that one, good wife, she'll be, very adept at Potions.' I told him honestly, stroking the ends of my moustache with the hand that wasn't still shaking his. I let it drop. 'And carrying on the pureblood line!'

He looked confused (a look I was used to from him - I frequently saw it on his face in my classes). 'With respect, I'd feel the same if she was muggleborn.'

'Well of course you would, of course!' I smiled, sipping my mead. 'But doesn't it help, eh?' I nodded, more to myself than him, and when he did not respond, I asked the question which has just come to me. 'What can I help you with?'

'Well, I know there are only a few jobs in the Department of Law Enforcement,' - well now, here, I almost had to stop him; ambition was one thing, but I couldn't see Arthur Weasley has a high-flier in _that _Department - 'and I was wondering if you could help me. I don't want to be an Auror or on Wizengamot or anything. I - I want to be in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office, but I'm worried that I won't be able to get a job there -'

'My boy, you have chosen one of the trickiest Departments, haven't you?' I asked, wondering how to explain to him that I couldn't be of any use to him. For one thing, I knew he was lacking that… _spark_. For another thing, the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office was the least exciting. I had nothing, and wanted even less to do with it, if I'm honest with you. 'I'm afraid I won't be able to help. My connections, though extensive, simply don't stretch that far.'

He looked as if I'd fed him a Befuddlement Draught, and a redness spread to the tips of his ears. 'Wh - what? But Professor, I want to be able to support Molly if we get married -'

'Admirable sentiments, Weasley, admirable sentiments!' I clapped him on the shoulder. He nearly fell forward; just a whip of a lad, for someone with that height. 'Still, my answer stands.'

He nodded glumly. I didn't _say_ that I doubted his abilities to fly that high, but he seemed to understand. 'I didn't think so, but Professor McGonagall said I should ask you anyway. I can still try.'

'Of course. I'm sure you'll manage to find somewhere that will allow you and Ms. Prewett to do as you will,' I said in what I hoped was a kindly manner. He set his tumbler back on the table, thanked me for my time, and I showed him out. I told him that I was sorry I couldn't be of more use, but I wasn't.

Some jobs aren't designed to reap benefits, and some people aren't meant for the highest rings of success. With Weasley gone, I settled down to the rest of my mead, and didn't let the thought cross my mind again. I wondered if Ambrosius Flume would be able to send me any of his delicious crystallised pineapple. Maybe you've heard of Ambrosius? Old student of mine, done very well with his sweet business…


	7. Audrey Whistler's Need

_Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!  
Disclaimer: My house is _Hufflepuff_, and my given pairing was _Charlie/Audrey_, thus breaking Percy/Audrey. Thanks to XxHarryxGinnyxX for the beta-ing help. I really hope you like it, I enjoyed writing this challenge. I'm very sad the competition is over, but many thanks to the organisers (you guys have done a really amazing job), and to anyone who has read/reviewed this story. Go 'Puffs! (I hope I've done the Hufflepuff House proud!)_

* * *

You can't quite believe you're on a date with this man. Oh, it's not that he's a bad person, he's not terribly unattractive, not badly dressed. He's just … different. But, you think, it's probably a good different; a good thing. He's all red hair and glasses and crooked teeth behind a crooked smile but it works somehow. As the two of you talk, his nasally voice washes over you and it's comfortable already. When he slips something into the conversation that makes you laugh, it almost takes you by surprise.

'I'm glad I came,' you smile at him. The blush you get in response spreads right up to his ears. 'I wasn't sure -'

'- about me?'

'About dating again at all.' You tell him, and you continue without thinking. It's not like you've got anything to hide, because you're not embarrassed or ashamed. 'I'm a widow, you see. My husband, Jasper, died three years ago. I don't - I don't date very often.'

You wait to gauge his reaction. He doesn't blanch, or look afraid like some people do. He doesn't even look like he pities you (because it's the pity you can't stand), or like you're suddenly made of glass. It's like he knows what Jasper told you before he died and what you have taken so long to understand: the people who love only once in their lives are the truly selfish ones.

When he doesn't reply, you can't think of anything to do but laugh. 'I'm sorry, a little heavy for a first date?'

He laughs too. 'Perhaps, but I'm glad you told me. We've all lost people,' he says, far too comfortable with talking about death and you wonder, but don't question him. Not everyone can say it as easily as you can. 'I admire you for being able to tell me.'

That's the last you say of it for now, and for months to come. But you've starting thinking about him again now, and how _different_ Percy is from Jasper. Selfishly and cruelly, you think that you'd give anything for just one more night with Jasper. Then you know you'd be able to be happy with the Percy you're getting to know, with careful fingers and a slender body, instead of well-built arms and shaggy hair.

* * *

Over those months, there are revelations and new experiences, with a magic you'd only ever known existed in storybooks and your imagination. Your bookshop, the one you own with your best friends, was your only source of magic before, but even that now seems dull, without the spark of Percy's home, and his world.

His friends slowly become yours, his sisters-in-law bring their children to see you. They call you 'Aunt Audrey' with little, lisping voices. They're sweet and adorable, and you love them already but so much finality is almost suffocating. The whole family is there and they accept you; love you like one of them.

You almost _want_ a struggle, to have to fight a little.

You've never managed to fit in so easily before. The suffocating feeling in your chest builds and builds, and you go to the Burrow, where there's so much noise, so much red hair. There's so much family and food and the pretending that they've known you forever (because you're with Percy, and Percy never brings people back, never) but they haven't. Oh, they haven't. It's only been months, that have somehow stretched into a year, and you _don't _understand magic, and you _don't_ understand their family dynamic (it was just you and your mother for so long, and your two best friends, and Jasper). You love Percy and you try desperately to learn and accept his family, like they accept you, but it's so hard, too hard.

You excuse yourself from dinner, to take some fresh air under the stars. It makes you feel worse, when you think about it. Everyone is lovely to you and you know that you could love them, given time.

'Evening, Audrey.'

You jump at the voice, intruding on your contemplations. 'Gosh, Charlie, you scared me!'

'More than my family?' He asks with a smile. He understands, somehow. Maybe because he isn't there all the time; he has the benefits of being on the innermost-circle and of being almost a stranger looking in.

You blush, but shake your head. 'They're really great, just … a lot to take in.'

'Oh, I know it,' he says, standing beside you , a little way from the house. You can't help but notice how different he is to Percy. The two of them look alike, they've got the same colour eyes (but a different mind behind them) and the same nose (though Charlie's looks broken and reset a multitude of times). His voice is lighter, somehow breezier than Percy's. He's tanned and muscular, from his work, and burns intersect scars on his arms and face.

Charlie, you realise with a start, reminds you of Jasper. Not really in the way that he looks; there's just something that you can't pinpoint, but it's there. It's there in the way that he laughs, the way that he stands, the way that he's so charming and bold. This, you think, is your chance. You've noticed the sly way that he's paid a little more attention to you every time you've met, and to the others it's been lost because they've all been showing you a little extra attention. But Charlie - you've only met him two or three times in the year you've known Percy - looks at you differently, in a way you can't explain.

Looking around carefully, to make sure that the others are still safely in the house, you tell Charlie everything; about Jasper, about Percy, about coming into their world and his family. But mainly, you tell him that he mustn't think less of you. Being with a Weasley, well, it's a forever sort of deal. You learnt that quickly enough and it's a deal you're more than willing to make. After you've had just one night of pretence, of pretend, you'll be able to be happy with Percy for however long you live. 'Please,' you say, getting desperate. 'Aren't we friends? Can't you do this, for Percy?'

'Hush, calm down,' he hugs you for a long time. 'You must know that I can't do that. You're Percy's girlfriend - my links with him are strained enough, no matter how much I try to fix that. Look, if you want to go home, that's okay. I can apparate with you, or I can get Percy. What do you want to do?'

You nod miserably, and whisper 'home.' You trust that he'll give Percy an excuse for your sudden absence.

You can't think of one yourself.

* * *

When it hits you what you asked his brother to do, the feeling makes you nauseous. You stand by that desire, but with his _brother_? You should know that no Weasley would do something so dishonest. So you start to pull away instead. You don't see Percy every couple of days, or every few days, or speak to him daily, like you used to love doing.

You don't split up with him - that's too permanent, too. You don't want to be suffocated in finality, by being with him, or by not. You just need … time. Which is what you tell him.

You can practically see the love shining in his eyes as he nods, tells you not to worry and that if it's time you need, he'll give you as much as it will take for you to come back to him happier. He thinks he knows; he thinks you need time to adjust to magic, to his big family. He doesn't fight you, doesn't tell you that he loves you _now_. A fight would have made everything easier, somehow. You wanted him to ask why, ask what he wasn't doing, ask what he can do to fight to make you happier. You want fire, just a taste, just a single, stupid flame to burn you. But Percy isn't fire, he's water, and he washes over you.

You love that, you love how comforting and lovely Percy is. You just need something else, the fire that Jasper was, one last time.

So you aren't exactly single again, but you aren't exactly in a relationship either. You're in purgatory.

A week later (a week of indecision and not knowing, which doesn't make anything better for you), late in the evening, long after you've closed, there's a cracking sound in the corner of the shop, behind one of the shelves. Fearing the worst, you rush to check the books. Instead, Charlie is standing there. It takes you a minute to register the apparition. You know he hasn't come back all the way from Romania for you (he'd been staying with a friend, helping her to write a book on dragons), but he's there nonetheless.

'Audrey, I - ' he starts to talk softly, but he doesn't seem to know what to say, or how to phrase it.

'Please…' you whisper, though you're the only ones there.

He doesn't ask you to promise that this will be it. He doesn't even promise you that it's all going to be okay in the morning. Neither of you tells the other that you'll definitely go back to Percy after this. You both respect Percy far too much to ask for or make promises that can't be made. You hope you'll go back to him, because you really do love him, but your wild heart wasn't ready and your mind needs to settle. Like medicine to numb the pain, you hope that Charlie can help you realise your love for Percy.

Charlie kisses you right there, between two bookshelves, and there isn't a crack of disapparition until early the next morning.

* * *

Somehow, because of all this magic, what you've done feels less wrong. It all feels a little too surreal, a little too much like you're going to wake up any second. Never in your life have you just … had sex, to quell a feeling. There's this guilt, because you're next to him in bed, curled against him, but he doesn't feel right. You'll love him forever for helping you like this, for giving you what you needed, no matter how immoral most people would judge it to be.

But when you wake up, the last night is a memory, not an imagining. You wake to Charlie's brown, weather-worn face and too-toned arms. You compare him to Jasper, and they're so alike, but that doesn't satisfy you the next morning like it did the night before.

'Happy?' He murmurs. You nod against his arm. 'Our secret, between friends?'

You could kiss him, you really could. You don't, because, contrary to what one might expect considering what you've done already, it would be like kissing a friend, or a memory. You know you'll not gain pleasure from that again. A secret between friends is exactly what it is, and what it will happily remain.

You know he won't throw last night back at you; use it maliciously against you.

'Thank you, Charlie.' You tell him, sitting up a little. You try to live in this moment, with Charlie, and you try to remember how it felt to wake with Jasper. But your thoughts drift away from Jasper, who's forever living in the darkened corner of your mind, and away from Charlie, whose arm you're tucked into. You can't help but think about Percy, about how you'll go to him tomorrow (later doesn't feel right, when you're in bed with his brother), about how you can tell him that you're ready now.

When it comes down to it, Charlie isn't Jasper. His eyes don't twinkle in the same way.

You don't want to replace Jasper. You can't. Maybe that's why Percy's differences appealed to you in the first place. You're sure they're the reason your thoughts of Charlie always change back to thoughts of Percy, in the end.

You're a different person when you're with Percy. The person you are is so changed from the person you were before you met him; she's happier, but a little more mundane (only a little, mind), and fine with being gentle and quiet. You don't doubt that she's a better person. They say love changes people and you know that must be true. Changing was never a decision you made.

It's growing up, really. You're a better woman. You love Percy, you know how much now, and it's as simple as that. And it's enough.


End file.
